


Feed Me

by MajaLi



Series: Come Into My Parlor [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Omega, M/M, OneGoalFic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny meets the love of his life at an omega parlor, courts him, and finally gets his payoff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feed Me

**Author's Note:**

> MILLIONS OF THANKS to [thundersquall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall) for the bunny and [khasael](http://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael) for the cheerleading. LET'S GO HAWKS! Carefully wordcounted anti-elimination porn for the [#OneGoal challenge](http://onegoalinfinitedreams.tumblr.com/post/143275888710/never-too-late-to-sign-up-for-onegoal-fic).

Jonny slides into his usual booth – he has a usual booth, what has his life become – at the parlor, casting about for a familiar, slender form and a head of bouncing blonde curls. He spots Patrick a few tables over, a Blackhawks ribbon pinned to suit jacket just like after every win. He waits, then waves when Patrick turns toward him, a bubbly feeling rising up from his stomach and through his chest when Patrick lights up and waves back. Patrick says something to the alphas at the other table that makes them laugh, then wends his way between the sprawling sofas and low tables, across the plush carpet to Jonny.

“Good evening, Mr. Toews,” he says with a smile, gloved hands clasped in front of him. Jonny takes a deep breath, not quite scenting, but still catching the edges of Patrick’s smell – a little tired, but genuinely pleased, and still with the barely-there note of attraction and arousal that’s kept Jonny coming back for months on end, putting up with a frankly ridiculous amount of chirping from the rest of guys. Just because, of all the stupid luck, Jonny’s met the love of his life at a omega parlor.

“How can we serve you this evening?” Patrick is always so proper. “Perhaps dinner, to start? Chef is debuting his spring tasting menu this week, which of course includes table-side service.” He licks his lips, tongue smearing the gloss a little, nearly overeager.

“That sounds perfect,” Jonny agrees, laying his palm flat on the table so he doesn’t reach out and mess Patrick’s lips further with the ball of his thumb. Not yet. “Can I assume you’re available tonight?”

“Your standing reservation stands as always, Mr. Toews.” Jonny props his cheek on his hand as he watches Patrick go, admiring the curve of his ass under his tightly tailored suit pants, the way the slight heels on his dress shoes make it perk and sway as he walks. Another omega brings him a glass of wine as he waits, a light Australian Shiraz rosé that gently wakes up his palate. Patrick follows not long after, gloves vanished, carrying a small plate of seared sea scallop and foie gras, topped with slices of radish and strawberry. He perches delicately on Jonny’s knee, offering up the first bite, but Jonny declines and selects a morsel of scallop to slip between Patrick’s lips, watching his throat work as he chews and swallows. They trade back and forth, while the other omega quietly arrays more dishes for Jonny’s selection: a handful of delicate artichoke cappelletti that smudge in Patrick’s fingers so Jonny has to suck off the last traces of them; a round of corned goat topped with tomatillos that has Patrick licking almond milk from Jonny’s palm, flushing prettily as Jonny’s heart rate ramps up; a bite of creamy chevre on a bed of pickled beets that stain Patrick’s lips so crimson it’s outright torture for Jonny not to be allowed to kiss them.

“I...I brought you another present,” he says quietly, after he’s tipped the last the spoonful of rhubarb hibiscus lassi down Patrick’s throat “Is that all right?” Jonny always asks, though Patrick has never denied him. He doesn’t this time, either, setting the spoon aside and scooting back from Jonny a little, enough that Jonny can reach into left jacket pocket and pull out the hidden weight that’s been on his mind the entire evening. He presses the puck into Patrick’s hands, watching as Patrick’s eyes widen in delight, then confusion, because the team was in St. Louis last night, and this is a Blackhawks puck, the brightly colored crest worn and scuffed.

“Jonny...?”

“I promised - ” Jonny’s voice cracks, and Patrick immediately reaches for the wine glass, pressing it to Jonny’s lips so he can sip easily before clearing his throat and trying again. “The night we met, I promised I’d score a goal for you, remember? And I...that’s...that’s it, it’s yours. Sorry it’s late,” he adds, as Patrick stares at him, mouth agape. “It’s been yours for a long time, actually. I just could never find the right time to give it to you. But I am now. So.” He trails off, fiddling with the stem of his wineglass. “Uh. Could you please say something?”

“No.”

Jonny’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach.

“Oh. Oh, hell, I’m so–”

“ _Nope._ ” Patrick repeats, shoving the puck into his pocket and grabbing Jonny’s face with both hands. “There are _no words_.” Then he crushes their mouths together, lips parted, the sudden, sweet swell of arousal in his scent prompting Jonny to push his tongue forward, tasting the fruit and Patrick and it’s too much, Jonny can feel it overwhelming him, fingertips digging bruises into Patrick’s hips through his clothing as he groans into Patrick’s mouth, gets his hair tugged sharply for his trouble until he lets Patrick pull back.

“Home,” Patrick demands, and when Jonny gapes at him, pupils blown, cock already halfway hard, repeats himself, insistent. “Take me home, Jonny.”

As if Jonny needed to be told twice.

The cab ride is a haze, the usual scents of pleather and cheap air freshener and too many passengers drowned out by Patrick’s slick, smothering Jonny’s nostrils until his vision blurs and his cock aches. He shoves a handful of bills at the driver, not caring if it’s massively overtipping because _worth it_ , pushes Patrick up the front walk ahead of him so that he can trap him against Jonny’s front door, pressing his hips to Patrick’s ass as Jonny reaches around him to fumble the keys into the lock.

“Hope you don’t have that much trouble when you’re–” Patrick laughs, and Jonny shoves him through the open door with a groan, drags him up the stairs to his bedroom without even bothering to flip on the lights.

“If I’d known all it’d take was a stupid puck to get you to let me–”

“How could you know not have known?” Patrick bites Jonny’s lip, grouchy and unimpressed; Jonny retaliates by dragging Patrick’s jacket from his shoulders, rubbing his nipples through his shirt until he gasps and pulls away, yanking impatiently at the buttons.

“Do the – the thing,” he says, flapping a hand at Jonny, who bites back his grin and obediently shucks his jacket and shirt. Patrick is even faster, though, and when Jonny surfaces from dragging his undershirt over his head, the slight glisten of slick on Patrick’s inner thighs stuns him into stopping, undershirt dropping from numb fingers as he steps forward and topples Patrick backward onto the bed, pants still hanging from one ankle as he lands with his legs splayed. Jonny follows him down, dropping to his knees, pulling Patrick’s small, plump asscheeks to reveal the wet little hole between. Patrick gasps as Jonny seals his mouth over it, tongue pushing in, eager for the sweet-salt of his slick that’s been lingering in the back of Jonny’s nose for _months_ and tastes even better.

He’s hot inside, so very hot and wet, and Jonny is desperate to get inside there, but he can’t bring himself to pull away, not with Patrick’s knees hooked over Jonny’s shoulders, fingers twisting in Jonny’s hair as he whines and bucks his hips. Patrick lets go with one hand, and Jonny briefly hears the wet sound of him stroking himself before he suddenly tips backward, grabbing onto Jonny’s head again with a frustrated curse.

“Too good at this, Jonny,” he pants, thighs clenching as he digs his heels into Jonny’s shoulder blades, trying to drag him closer. “I can’t – you gonna – you gonna make me?”

Jonny answers with a hard squeeze to Patrick’s ass before dragging one hand away from the soft flesh, pushing a finger into Patrick along with his tongue so quickly Patrick yelps, then moans as he clenches down instinctively, responding to the sudden intrusion just like he would an alpha’s knot.

“That’s it,” Jonny coaxes, pulling back at the same time he pushes a second finger in, stretching Patrick quickly, forcing him to accommodate Jonny’s thick fingers. “Gonna make you come just like this,” he promises. “On my fingers and tongue, so it’ll be so easy for me to get my knot up inside you, pin you on my cock for as long as I want.”

“Greedy,” Patrick accuses breathlessly, words starting to slur as Jonny works another finger into him. “Tongue’s not doin’ much.”

“ _Greedy_ ,” Jonny retorts right back, but ducks his head again, twisting his shoulders a little so he can fit his lips right up next to his hand, fit his tongue back into Patrick, between his fingers, licking the slick out of Patrick until his thighs start to shake, torso slowly dropping down towards the bed. Jonny just shuffles closer to the bed, wrapping his free arm over Patrick’s waist and pulling him forward so he can hike Patrick’s legs a little further up, slowly but steadily pushing the pinky of his other hand into Patrick’s hole until he’s got almost half his hand stuffed inside him along with his tongue. Patrick’s breath shortens and his hips twist, grinding himself down faster and faster until he suddenly freezes, his abs going taut under Jonny’s forearm as his thighs clench _hard_ , once, twice, and then again and again, his head hitting the comforter with a soft thump as he groans and gushes slick.

Jonny tongues him through all of it, as his spasms slow and he finally comes to rest, panting softly. A little gasp huffs out of him as Jonny carefully pulls his hand out and licks the slick off his fingers, then does the same to the thin, salty come spattered over Patrick’s belly. Jonny climbs to his feet and then up onto the bed, crawling forward until he can tuck his nose into Patrick’s neck, greedily breathing in the scent of his post-orgasmic contentment.

“Yeah-huh,” Patrick mumbles, petting at Jonny’s hair and missing, hand dragging softly over the nape of Jonny’s neck, sweet enough to make Jonny hum happily even as he drags his cock against Patrick’s thigh, through his pants. “G’job. S’good.”

“Do you need a break?” Jonny really, really hopes not, but his mother raised a gentleman, dammit. Patrick hums consideringly.

“Can you get it up again?”

Jonny muffles his laugh in Patrick’s shoulder. “Try and stop me.”

“Mmkay. Then, break’s good.”

That seems like a contradiction, until Patrick scoots down the bed a little, herding Jonny upward at the same time until they’re lying diagonally across it, Jonny’s head up near the pillows and Patrick’s down at by Jonny’s waist. He favors Jonny with a filthy smile and tugs his pants open, lips so red he must have been biting them (which Jonny is definitely going to address later because he would like to hear all of Patrick’s sounds, in the future, please).

“C’mere and fuck my mouth,” he says, and wraps his lips around Jonny’s cock. Jonny’s hips stutter forward before he can stop himself, but Patrick’s not choking, just making sweet little noises as he takes every inch Jonny can push down his throat. Jonny thrusts forward again and again, merciless, wanting, and it doesn’t take long before he's spilling into Patrick, watching, light-headed and a little dizzy, as Patrick swallows it all, lashes drawn down agains this cheeks like he wants to savor the taste without any distraction. When he finally surfaces, licking his lips, to nuzzle into Jonny’s neck in turn, Jonny can smell the slick already dripping between Patrick's thighs again, feel the renewed erection pressing against him. He reaches for it at once, wrapping his fingers around the hot length, tugging gently, delighted at the drop of precome sliding down his wrist, hungry for Patrick’s hunger.

Patrick beams and tilts his chin up at Jonny, challenging, blue eyes bright like chips of aquamarine.

“Ready for round two?


End file.
